


Through A Hundred Doors

by GetARoomKaiSoo



Category: Druck | SKAM (Germany)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst and Feels, Datteo, Davenzi, DavidIsTheBestTho, M/M, MatteoIsTheSoftestBabie, Pre-Canon, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2020-07-09 11:16:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19886707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GetARoomKaiSoo/pseuds/GetARoomKaiSoo
Summary: Matteo finds himself wondering about Time a little too often. It's ironic, really. Like watching a bird being fascinated with the sky.There's just too much of it for him, way too much to even matter.But he wonders still.Is Time a backbone to stories?Does it hold, does it support?Or is it their bloodstream?Does it run, does it bring Life?And he wonders still.Where does his Time go when those eyes of honey and gold turn him into a puddle of garbled stutters?Does it slip through the gaps in his fingers when he caresses that sandal skin?Where is this Time of his when the only distance between them is a pair of faltered heartbeats?There's just too much of it.But not enough.*****





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing fan-fiction. Wait not exactly writing one, because I've written plenty before, but it IS the first time I've put one out in public. So please be nice (I'll buy you cupcakes if you are. Well, not really, because I'm poor, but I promise I'll try) 
> 
> This work is completely unedited and raw and maybe I'll get around to working on that someday but not anytime soon. I don't even have a Beta that's how lost I am! 
> 
> Also I love Matteo soooooo much, the least I can do is immortalize him in a few words. 
> 
> Also I know like 4 (maybe 3) things about the countries I'm going to write about so please call me out on any mistakes I make. 
> 
> Also did I mention that I love Matteo? I love Matteo. 
> 
> Also thank you so much for choosing to read this. 
> 
> Also I love you for it.

He doesn't know why this is the first universe, he doesn't know if it is the first one. In all honesty, he knows nothing about the universe to begin with. He's sixteen, sleep-deprived and wants to throw his brother's phone at the nearest wall.

It's a small apartment, tiny, actually. He could hold both his hands out and be able to touch two opposite walls at once with ease. And it's cold, Lord, it's so cold, he wonders if he's lost two toes over the span of the night. The last time the heater worked around this place was also the last time his brother did anything useful in his life. Which is never, basically. He finds himself grappling at the fading edges of a beautiful dream (He sang for a living, slept for 18 hours a day, owned a Jaccuzi and ate Macarons for breakfast, the real kind, not the doughy ones they sell at the convenience store round the corner) as Pete Townshend’s Let my love Open the door fills the crisp morning air in the room, effectively driving away any hopes of even a few extra minutes of sleep. 

“Karl.” He mumbles, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes as gilded sunlight streams in through the dilapidated blinds by his bed. 

Upon no response from the dead log on the other bed, he tries again, a little louder this time. 

“Karl!” 

Silence. 

“Karl, you idiot!” He bellows as he pushes the blankets off of himself and blindly makes his way towards the blinking screen lying on the floor. It takes all the patience he has in him not to crush the stupid device and throw it out the window. 

“When was the last time you ever woke up to an alarm?” He seethes as he nudges the shapeless form that is his brother with a toe. “Why do you even have alarms? You don't even work!”

The only response he receives is a sleepy mumble that suspiciously sounds like it rhymes with Duck Flu and a stir of the bed sheets as his brother tries to find a comfortable position to doze back in.

He takes bath in under five minutes, he's running late and isn’t exactly fond of dying of hypothermia and that's exactly what the freezing water will do to him if he stays under it any longer. Breakfast is scrambled eggs and toast that is only slightly burnt, if he chews at this one particular angle he doesn't even notice it, and a warm glass of water (they ran out of orange juice three weeks ago and he likes to think that he's just not had the time to go buy some more, but the lightness of his wallet says otherwise).

His first job of the day is at the Cafe that is three blocks away. The sky is leaden, except at certain tiny patches where promises of a powder blue one tries to peek through. Most of Berlin seems to still be under warm duvets, the only people on the streets are joggers or workers returning from their previous night's shifts. Everything is so quiet, apart from the distant rumble of cars speeding down the highway and a few birds making their presence known here and there, as if a thin veil has been spread over the city which is absorbing any sound that is being made and transferring it to some unknown abyss. This manages to get under his skin, he's never been a fan of noise and bustling activity but there's just something about this magnitude of silence that makes his spine tingle. 

He waves at the owner of a flower shop near his place, and the man does the same with a bouquet of daffodils clutched in his hands and asks him to have a good day. For some strange reason that he'll spend a lot of time mulling over in the years to come, the image of those flowers, their exact shade of yellow gets branded behind his irises and he can't shake it off, it's like trying to wash dirt off of a glass wall from the wrong side.

He falls short of words in his head as he walks, an inexplicable feeling gripping at his chest with warm yet clammy fingers, as if some unseen leash that he's been tied to has been cut off suddenly, like he's a part of something bigger now, something too gigantic for his neurons to put into their language of images and words and feelings. Like some form of permanence is creeping into his existence without his knowledge, he can't put a finger on it, hell he wouldn't have been able to put his entire leg on it if he tried, let alone a finger. 

He walks through a few more residential blocks, munching on a granola bar that he finds in the pocket of his hoodie and halts at a signal, also yellow, although a different shade now. His feet are restless against the asphalt, tapping and shuffling, as he waits for the signal to turn red. 

It is 6 on a Monday morning, Berlin is thirty minutes away from its first snow of the year, and the signal is still yellow. His eyes catch onto something on the other side of the road. It's a blur of colours in the beginning, as if his entire being has gone out of focus and all his cells are trying to realign themselves to nullify the chaos. Red is what he sees first, a beanie bobbing up and down with fast steps, fast steps approaching his way. Followed by a mop of black, jet black hair that seems to have a spirit of its own, untamed by the said beanie, falling gracefully into eyes that capture his attention even at this distance.

And then all he sees is yellow, yellow and only yellow. It's in the ridiculous coat he's wearing, the book he's clutching to his chest, the watch around his wrist and even in the soles of his shoes. Mustard, Lime, Canary, Tuscan, Beige and a million others blending into this one boy who looks like he's bathed in gold and detailed in Sunshine. 

On the other side of the road, the boy clad in less brilliant clothing has not taken a breath in some worrying amount of seconds. He only seems to remember what oxygen is when their gazes connect across the distance and somewhere, some new part of the ground breaks open, giving way to a seed that will grow into a tree which will one day give itself up to make the pages for their story. 

The sunshine boy opens his mouth in a whisper, a sound so soft that the very air molecules around him absorb it into nonexistence. 

But that doesn't seem to matter because sounds were never the point, why would cosmic plans rely simply on the vibration of air molecules anyway? 

Because what had to be told and understood has already been said and perceived. 

Matteo. 

Matteo is the word. The only message of this life of his. The Sunshine boy's lost whisper. 

It is a call, a confirmation that yes, we're here now and we're real. We're here now and we're everything. 

We can begin. Let's begin. 

The signal turns red, but Matteo, who is now known by a different name, doesn't make any move to cross the road. It is a bus that whisks his destiny away from right under his nose. Of everything, a bus! 

The signal turns green and 

he watches the terrible automobile first disappear into a line, then a dot, then into nothing down the road. 

And just like that, the Sunshine boy is gone.

Sunshine boy, that's what he is for now. 

He knows the name, knows it so well it is ingrained into the back of his tongue, it is an undercurrent to every thought he'll every conceive, knows it but can't say it, not in this life at least. 

So he waits for the signal to turn red again, and waits still for the sixty years ahead, for an unexpected flash of yellow, for another whisper of Matteo that never comes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the sloppy writing. Hope you enjoy it anyway ^^

This life has their paths cross by chance. It is a redemption of sorts, an apology for what is to come. 

David is twenty-eight and a vendor. He's got another name now, the three word kind, but he knows exactly which one will make his head turn faster when called in a crowded room. 

He sells sea-life at Busan’s fish market and can talk about Anchovies and Snow crabs for hours if left uninterrupted. If spoken to for just the right amount of time he'll tell you about his dream of opening a Ramen shop in Seoul, but he'll blush right after, rosy sunsets glazing his cheeks, because of the feeling that he's spoken out of turn, such dreams are not meant for men like him. 

He draws on off days, and most days never cross a five on the scale of happiness, so he draws pretty often. Mostly the ocean, sunsets on good days when the scale tips over seven, but it's almost always the water. His sheets are murder scenes of blue, cyan dominating, powder and periwinkle following as close seconds. 

It's a mellow day in August, the daily newspaper has warned the coastal population of an oncoming storm, and David has just finished selling a 1000 Won worth of Squid to an old lady who looks like she could really use the protein. She leaves him with a blessing and a parting smile. 

May you find everything you've looked for.

He watches her retreating back as she weaves her way out of the market, wondering what on Earth she meant by that.

It's almost one in the afternoon and it’s quite unlikely for customers to bustle in during this time of the day. So he decides to close up for a couple of hours and go home. His stomach growls as an affirmation. 

He's covering all the bowls, locking the drawers and pulling a blue tarp over everything when a mellow voice commands his attention.

“Uhmm… Excuse me?”

He pivots around to find himself staring at two sapphire orbs set in a porcelain face. For a second, that feels more like aeons, he experiences a strange cocktail of emotions where he is at a loss for words but still has enough flooding his brain to fill five volumes of Thesaurus. He decides that his best option right now is to stay quiet and gape at the other person like a dying fish. 

The said person, who seems to be squirming under the said gaze, decides that it's best for him to speak up. 

“I was looking for Eels?” He says, fingers fiddling with the hem of the beige jacket he's wearing, looking like a child who was caught staring at something inappropriate for too long. The last time David saw something so lovely he was as high as stars. 

“And? Did you find them?” David asks and almost feels bad when he sees the panic and confusion on the other boy's face. 

“Huh?”

“No, nothing.” He says, trying his best to keep all sarcasm out of the conversation. “I'm closing up right now. But everyone sells Eel around here, you can go to that uncle's shop over there.” He adds, pointing. 

He turns his back on the beautiful stranger and continues to place all the change in one box. Only to be interrupted again a minute later. 

“But… but my friend says you have the best ones around here.” Mumbles the boy in the bravest tone he can muster.

David sighs as he turns around. “I like this friend of yours.” He comments, placing his hands on his hips in a way that's suitable for someone who is either half or twice his age. “And they're right. I do have the best Eels.”

“I need some.” Says the boy, dipping his head in a way that makes his chestnut hair fall across his forehead.

Something in David's heart twangs like the string of a guitar, he controls his twitching hand that wants to place itself on his chest to calm it. 

“Are you going to buy them?” He asks and the boy looks even more puzzled than before. David didn't think that was possible. 

“Yes, of course.” He says, dangling some bills in David's face as if trying to prove his point. 

“Then why are you asking like that?” 

The boy starts chewing on his lips that look like vermillion ribbons set into the ivory of his face and David wants to hook a thumb under his chin and pull it out of his mouth. 

“I don't know. I'm sorry.” Mutters the boy, looking positively defeated and David wants to smack himself over the head for it. 

“No, no, don't be.” He says quickly, before the boy dissolves into a puddle. “You can have some Eel. You can have all of it, actually. I don't think I'll sell any more today.”

“Is that… Is that Okay?”

“Yes, that's fine.”

He packs all the Eel that's left in the bucket and hands it to the boy.

A soft brush of fingers, an inaudible gasp, a few skipped heartbeats. David wonders if the air around them got electrocuted. 

“Thank you.” The boy says, passing the money to David. More color seems to be rising to his cheeks and David wants to place his fingers over them, just to see how warm it can get. 

The boy bows respectfully and is about to leave when David says, “Will you need more Eel tomorrow?” 

For the first time since David saw him, the boy sports the tiniest of smiles, a little tug of the corner of his lips, before saying, “Most probably, yeah. My friend quite likes them.”

“That's good. I'll make sure to have some lying around tomorrow.” David says and is delighted to see that smile widen. 

“That's incredibly kind of you“ The boy says in a voice so high he even surprises himself. “Thank you. I hope you have a nice day.” 

The boy leaves and David watches him the same way he watched the lady leave a few minutes ago, except this time it's like trying to keep track of a diamond trail in still water. 

“I hope you have a nice day, too, Matteo.” He breathes. 

A storm does overtake Busan that night. Nothing gets damaged, just a lot of chaos and entropy that will take three more days to settle. Several sheets of David's sketchbooks are covered in Navies and Indigos.

He colours darker each night. 

He doesn't think Matteo remembers. 

****

A week passes by before Matteo makes an appearance again. He looks tired and apologetic. 

“My friend fell sick during the storm.” He explains. 

David wants to wipe that pout away because nobody has the right to look this adorable. 

“You want to taste some good Eel?” He asks and suppresses a smile when the boy frowns. 

Why does he always look this confused? 

“Huh?”

“I grilled some Eel. Do you want to taste it?”

A visible spark crosses the blue rapids of the boy's eyes. “I would love to.”

David fumbles in the rucksack placed on his side and retrieves a box and a pack of chopsticks, which is diligently handed over to the boy. 

He watches Matteo eat, an unconscious smile playing on his own lips the whole time. He doesn't remember the last time he's felt this peaceful. He doesn't understand why though, because Matteo eats like someone has a gun pointed at his head, sloppy and fumbling. Or maybe he does understand, because watching Matteo do anything would be a matter of unending joy, he'd watch hours worth of footage of the boy aimlessly roaming around in a supermarket if he could. 

“That was amazing.” Matteo praises, wiping his glistening mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. “Like, really amazing.”

“You're welcome.” David says as he takes the box from Matteo’s hand and places another bag in it instead.

“Here's your Eel. Now get out of my face.”

The boy smiles so widely before he leaves that all the uneaten boxes of grilled Eel that David carried back home with him for the past week seems worth it. 

It doesn't matter if Matteo doesn't remember. Not if he gets him to smile like this everyday. 

***

They meet everyday for the next three months. Grilled Eel gives way to Bean paste noodles and Fish Cakes and Gimbap and Tteokbokki and each time Matteo smiles like David is handing him an entire universe in those boxes. 

David's sketches have lighter blues now, sometimes even a few portraits of bow lips and ocean eyes. 

David's sketches have too much life now. As if they contain more than just feelings and powdered pigments within them. 

David's sketches are beautiful.

It makes him want to cry on quiet nights. 

***

It's a lazy Saturday afternoon, six months since the first time they met, when Matteo announces in that soft mumble of his that he wants to take David out of Busan for a day.

So later that morning David finds himself pulling into the parking lot of Seoul's biggest aquarium. Three steps into the multi storey building and the dancing ensues, as Matteo weaves them through the crowd of shrieking children and weary adults, a wisp of David's sleeve pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

'Why an aquarium?' He asks as they stand before a square-shaped glass case taller than Matteo. 

The boy gapes at the fishes inside. ('Look at that! The rocks are moving!' Gets a chuckle and a 'You bonehead, they're just big Gouramis.’) 

'Because you love fishes?' Matteo mentions, looking at David as if he's missing an obvious point. 

'So you brought me here to watch fishes.' 

'Yeah.' 

'I love fishes the way people love chicken.' 

'Oh.'

'You're the best.' Is uttered to convey the thousand thank yous that Matteo deserves. 

It's like watching a painting come alive, David thinks, as the Kois wade across the pristine pond water and Matteo watches them with a sparkle of awe in his eyes. Mobile ribbons of red and white and gold and orange, so unaware of their effect, leaving brilliant trails of gilded water in their wake. And here stands this boy, David's favourite stranger, dark hair, round eyes, skin mirroring the salt lakes of Bolivia, so unaware of his effect as he leans over the edge of the pond to get a look at the lesser beauty.

Twenty-one summers into Matteo's life and he's barely come across anything as breath-taking as the sight of David watching the congo tetras. The little fishes, blue celestial bodies lost in the glassy abyss of their tank, throw ripples of light onto David’s face as they swim through the clear water. Matteo watches this miracle unfold in silence, as tiny silver explosions occur over the prairie of sunsets that is David's skin.

'My grandfather proposed with a pearl.'Says the older one as they walk past the tank of clams. 'She wore it around her neck all the time. We buried her with it.'

'She sounds like a lovely lady.'

'She was.'

'You're a lot like her.'

'Yeah. I've always wanted to be a lovely lady.'

They buy two Arowanas at the gift shop and have hamburgers and fries for lunch. When Matteo slides his arm into the crook of David's elbow, it only feels too natural to reach up and squeeze the boy's hand. 

'They mate for life.' He tells Matteo's rippled reflection, which beams at him through the glass of the seahorse tank.  
Matteo watches two of the fishes bob around the motor that spits out bubbles of oxygen sporadically, their tails curled into an unbreakable loop of trust (You drift and I drift with you.)

'I think I see why.' He admits and hopes that the little tremor that runs through his hand won't give him away. 

David only smiles sadly.

Do you really not remember me? 

*****

Things change and they don't manage to slip David's attention. 

Subtle brushes of the shoulder have been replaced by warm arms circling around waists. Matteo's laughter has become deeper but so have David's fears. 

IShouldTellHimIShouldTellHiIShouldTellHim. 

It's a curse that eats his sleep and peace. 

He'sTooYoungHe'sTooYoungHe'sTooYoung. 

Matteo calls him that night. It's nearing 1 AM. He steps out of his house to attend the ringing phone. Matteo tells him about the dream he just woke up from, where they were in Venice. 

“We were having breakfast by the waters. You looked so happy, you had the Sun in your face and you told me that you were glad to have met me. I had to tell you before I forgot. I'm so sorry for calling you this late in the night, but you looked so happy! I just had to tell you.”

David assures him that it's okay and that he is indeed glad to have met him, he should've told him long ago. 

The line is quiet for a while and he wonders if Matteo has fallen asleep or if the call has been disconnected. And then, like smoke rising out of a precipice comes the words.  
“I like you.”

It's unassuming, it is simple and so sharp and hot, it sears a hole right through David's chest. 

ILoveYouILoveYouILoveYou

“It's late, you should sleep.” He breathes into the device, voice carrying the weight of a thousand Sorries that he hopes Matteo can hear. “Goodnight.”

The beep indicating the end of the call sounds more like a shriek that's tearing his eardrums apart. 

He wants to rip the thoughts out of his head and lay it at Matteo's feet, just to show him the number of times his name crosses his mind, he wants to grovel until his knees bleed, maybe Matteo will find all his love in that crimson depth, maybe he'll find all the truth.

I'm a Coward. 

Half my existence has your name on it. 

Why don't you remember us? 

Would it even matter if you did? 

****

Wispy clouds don the azure sky and the salty wind blows Matteo's hair over his forehead while having no effect whatsoever over David's unkempt locks. They sit on the beach, leaning over their elbows, legs lying close, shoulders inches apart. Sometimes, Matteo's toe just grazes the skin over his ankles and it's enough to cause his impulses to go haywire across his synapses. He wonders if he's doing it on purpose. 

“Tell me your biggest lie.” David says and turns his head to find an amused look on Matteo's face. 

“What are you playing at?” Matteo asks in that lazy tone of his, voice low, as if wants you to put in as much effort to listen to him as he does to speak to you. 

“Nothing.” David answers, an undercurrent of tension and dread lacing his voice. He hopes Matteo doesn't notice. “I just want you to answer my question.”

“Hmmm…” The boy puts on an act of contemplation but his answer is too quick to fool anyone. “I'm not the happiest person in the world right now.”

If Matteo had been paying close attention he would have noticed something unfasten behind David's eyes. He would've noticed the slackness of his jaw and just how limp his limbs have gone. But Matteo continues to gaze at the frothy waves breaking into the cardboard sand, as if it's routine for him to change lives with his words and continue existing as if nothing happened. 

David watches the boy next to him in silence for a few seconds, as if dedicating the moments to memorize the planes of his face, the exact way the sunlight bounces off of the apples of his cheek, You have such beautiful lashes, Matteo, your laughter drives the darkness, Matteo, you're a mess, Matteo, you're so perfect, Matteo, I love you, Matteo.

Why are you ruining me, Matteo? 

“I'm married.”

It slips out like an avalanche.

It takes lives. David’s is the first one. 

“I've been married for seven years.”

The way Matteo looks in response makes him want to shove all the death back into his mouth. 

But it's too late. 

“What?” There's that frown again, but this time it breaks David open instead of making him smile. 

“I'm married. I met her in high school. Never thought I'd love anyone like that again”

He braces himself for the wrath, for words to start cutting him open, to sear at his skin. Except when he looks up Matteo doesn't seem angry, he looks very sad, like he wants to go to sleep and stay there, like he's tired beyond belief. 

“But then I realized that I already had. When I met you. I realized.”

Matteo turns to look at the ocean again, chews on the inside of his cheek for so long David is ready to beg him for words. 

“Do you love her?” He asks, no antagonism in his voice, only curiosity. Or maybe he's just too good at hiding things. 

David wants to lie, and he almost does, it's right there at the tip of his tongue. But lying to Matteo seems like such a futile thing to do. 

It reminds David of this one time when he was fourteen and had to take a route home from school that was thrice as distant as the one he usually went for because he saw a bunch of his bullies hanging out from the corner of a street. Except when he did get home and pushed the door open to the stench of alcohol and dense smoke hanging in the air he had realized that all his efforts had gone down the drain. His skin would turn blue that night anyway, only the artist would be different this time, a set of soft hands that would dig deeper graves in his being than the ones he had just escaped.

Lying to Matteo would be like that. Pointless, like taking a hundred routes, not knowing that all of them lead to the same destination. 

Matteo would always figure his truth out. Effortlessly.

So he whispers a Yes and wonders if Matteo's heard it, not sure if it was loud enough to be heard over his breath. And he continues to wonder for a while because Matteo seems as unresponsive as a rock as he watches his toe dig a small burrow into the sand, except for a small shake of his head and a nod, as if he's trying to dislodge an unwelcome thought. So he tries to say it again, even though the word tastes like acid as it travels up his chords, burning hatred onto his tongue, but before he can Matteo is getting up off the sand, dusting his backside with both hands like a child, a playful glint in his eyes. 

“I want to fly a kite.” He announces, stomping his foot to establish his excitement. “It's been ages since I did. Let's go! I want to touch the sky today.”

David wants to laugh, because it's too ridiculous, because crying would be unreasonable because he doesn't think he'd be able to stop. He couldn't deny Matteo anything even if he tried. How could he when the boy stood there with an arm outstretched towards David, a hundred Suns in his eyes? Except it wasn't only the Sun but also the ocean it dove into every night and all the ice it melted. Matteo's eyes had all the skies that David had ever been under. And every sky he'd ever see from now on would have Matteo’s eyes in it. 

So he goes, as easy as the confluence of a river and sea, as natural as dusk melting into daylight, he lifts his hand and lets it fall into Matteo's. It's like knocking on a door and being let in, except this is not just any place, this is where you go when the road runs out, when it's too dark outside and you've left all your light behind.

This is home. 

They fly kites until most of the people on the beach bleed out like a cut wound. David watches Matteo giggle and clap and scream in happiness, it's like the afternoon never happened, like a dream long forgotten in the wake of a new future. They eat ice creams and Matteo gets some on his nose, it's hard to keep his thoughts and hands to himself and not kiss Matteo's face into oblivion, but David manages. 

It's a quarter past nine in the night and Matteo decides that he wants to dance. David's arm that slips into place around his waist is only slightly trembling, he likes to think it's the wind, it's way too chilly after all. They step from side to side with all the awkwardness characteristic of a prom dance. David's breathing is uneven and he wants to close his eyes to focus on that but he can't, not when Matteo's skin is so close to his own, it's like hugging a furnace, only this time David wants to burn. 

He trips a couple of times, and is immediately straightened by Matteo's sure arms, and at some point the swaying stops altogether and they just stand still in an embrace, having a conversation, with no sounds or words, their foreheads pressed together, in a language as old as time, as old as them. 

The ocean continues to swell and fall behind them in an immortal din of the world, pulled by the same celestial forces that are keeping them together.

This is the last time David ever sees Matteo in this life. 

****  
David wakes up in his bed the next morning, a little hungover on something stronger than alcohol. It had stormed the previous night after they had left the beach. 

He doesn't kiss his wife goodbye while leaving for work. 

Matteo doesn't show up at the market that day. David visits his house every other day for the next six months only to be invited by the same silver lock each time. 

It's like he never existed at all. 

Until a letter without a return address shows up on a balmy Wednesday in April. David is getting back from the hospital when he finds it sitting innocently at his doorstep. He hasn't been feeling well lately, he hasn't felt good in a long while. Only thing identifying his ownership of the letter is his name printed on one of the corners of the envelope. 

Maybe he knows where the letter is from before he even opens it, because his fingers shake over the paper as he does. Maybe he doesn't. 

It doesn't matter anyway. What is in the letter is the destination of any of the countless paths that he could have taken in this life. This is his truth. 

***

Leaving Busan that night has been the hardest decision I've ever had to make. It rained enough to soak me to the bone and two o'clock is an hour of the morning that I despise. But two o'clock was the only time where I was sober enough to take care of myself and drunk enough to pretend that I could move away from you and still continue to exist. 

But I had to. 

And I hope I can help you understand why and that you can forgive me someday. 

But how cruel would it be to take you away from her, when she's spent all this time to pour all her love into you. It's hard to miss, that kind of affection, the one that makes your very insides glow. I realized that I had been blind to it the whole time. Because I had the same kind of love burning inside me too. 

But it is also my fear that keeps me here, hundreds of miles away from you, causing you the same kind of pain that's eating at my chest, because taking love away is like a ball of string that you release into the world, which might twist and turn and travel a hundred miles but it always, always comes back to you. And I don't think I can stand having anyone take you away from me like that, David, not in any of the lives that are going to bring me to you again. 

There is one truth you deserve to know and I'm sorry that I never told you this or the million other things that I wanted to. I was hoping we'd have more time.

There never was a friend. I recognized you the moment I walked into the market. I would, each time, in a heartbeat. I knew you were there even before I saw you. It was hard to miss, really, as if I'd walked into a volcano.

You're red-hot, it's always been the way you burn. So I will recognize you again, the next time we meet. And the hundred other times that are yet to come. 

Until then,  
I'll love you with every breath and in every second of its absence.  
Yours,  
Matteo.  
***


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written this at three in the morning, so it's probably riddled with a hundred grammatical and a million other types of errors. I'll probably edit it in the next few days. But for now I just wanted to put the chapter out there as fast as possible because let's face it, it's been a long time coming. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading it and I hope y'all are safe and happy.
> 
> All the love  
> -H
> 
> PS: I have no idea if I can add chapter rating. But this one's an M for mature content.

It’s three in the afternoon and the boy sits in an office lobby with his hands resting in his denim-clad lap. August is still ripe and the incessant monsoon showers cleanse the world outside until everything looks too bright and too pristine to be real, like some twisted optical illusion of nature.

He checks his watch thrice within a span of five minutes, wondering if he should just up and leave. He can find a job elsewhere, maybe even multiple jobs if he really wants to, there’s never been a shortage of companies like these in India. 

A school of Bala sharks swim around leisurely in the pink tinted aquarium placed atop the desk before him. He crosses his legs and watches the little cold-blooded creatures loiter around, sometimes shimmering as they catch the light from the fluorescent bulb above their heads, quiet and unbothered as they remain lost in their buoyant oblivion.

He waits for what feels like an eternity and then some, tapping his feet over the hardwood floor as he does so. And then he’s had enough. His bottom is almost raised off of the bench when he hears the creak of the door to his right opening. He settles back down as another person enters the room, bringing a moist gust of wind along with them. 

It’s another boy, dressed in a white button down shirt, a pair of loose beige slacks and an abomination of a green sweater that somehow manages to look lovely against his russet skin and ash-coloured hair. He hovers around the desk for a moment, peeking behind it to find the receptionist, looking painfully adorable on his tippy-toes as he does so, before marching over to the bench and taking a seat.

He sits idly for a while, clutching the file in his hands closer to his chest as he looks around the room with an expression of dull awe on his face. He strokes the little star-shaped gold stud on his right ear a couple of times, looking a tad lost and unsure, before slightly turning in his seat and blinking at the dark-haired boy next to him.

Clearing his throat before speaking and fumbling with the ring on his finger, he offers a shy smile that adds a strange kind of luminescence to his midnight eyes. “Is the receptionist not in today?” He asks the other boy, who looks startled to have been taken notice of. 

It takes a beat too long, as the boy looks at him, his features twisted into some indiscernible expression, but he gets his answer. 

“No, she’s in.” the other boy says, straightening up a little from his slouch. “She’s gone into the director’s office.” He points his thumb over his shoulder, at the mahogany door behind him.

He watches the blond boy smile again, his heartbeat picking up an inhuman pace, his palms clammy and hot in his lap, like he’s holding a live wire that’s hurting him, but he can’t let go, he can’t look away.

When was the last time he saw something this flawed be this beautiful? Like watching a Kintsugi come to life, the embered remains of a forest fire.

The boy, whose bleached hair seems to move with some ethereal wind of its own, proceeds to introduce himself, and he tucks his words away into some accessible corner of his memory, so that he can mull on it later. But for now all he can do is watch, the slick slide of those plush lips as he mouths his name, puffy cheeks that swallow his eyes when he smiles.

It's like being an audience to a one man musical he never paid for, a performance of a lifetime and he's the only witness.

He watches as the rate of his heartbeat goes down, the jitters that made his fingers twitch seem to slowly lose their effect, he watches as the fire beneath his skin calms down to a tingle, the kind that makes him glow. 

He watches wordlessly, serving some celestial hunger within himself, filling a void that had been created even before his birth.

He watches for Matteo, yearning to throw his hands out and pull the person before him close to his bosom, until the only distance between them is a pair of faltered heartbeats. He watches as Matteo, at the good end of his period of absolution, for a crime he never committed. 

He watches, unaware of the thousands of stories adorning his history like drops of crimson blood on snow, simply because looking away would hurt and he's not sure if he can take that pain just yet. So when a sturdy voice pulls his attention away from that astounding face he isn't sure if he wants to cry or rip that person's head off. He balances dangerously at the mid line, three seconds away from doing things that will land him in jail. 

"The director will see you now." Says the receptionist, her smiling head peeking out of the director’s office.

Matteo gets to his feet haltingly as the woman steps out and moves around her desk to make herself home on her metallic spinning chair, wondering if she meant only himself or the both of them. 

"Uhhh....” Comes the saccharine voice from before. "I think it's better if we both go in? If he wants only one of us there, the other one can come back out." The boy suggests, and at this point Matteo would agree, without a second thought, if the boy thought it would be a good idea to sell their kidneys and fly to Bali to crash a wedding, so it is of no surprise that he wordlessly complies and follows the boy into the office.

Matteo feels like he's walked into some ridiculous cafe where they fetishise unicorns and serve liquid diabetes as drinks. Everything that his eyes land on is pastel, and if it isn't pastel it is the most outrageous shade of neon pink. It makes his skin feel itchy, like one wrong move will make the entire room melt and he'll forever be trapped in a prison of primary colours. 

The director sits behind the baby blue coffee table, on the sea-green corduroy couch, looking as unbecoming in the setting as a crow in a convention of doves. He is dressed in clothes that seem like they're trying really hard to look like each other. The cotton pant, shirt and jacket he's wearing are almost the same shade of black, except that he seems to have washed them strategically to make each item of clothing look slightly more faded than the last one. 

"Hello boys." He greets them, his airy voice more characteristic of the pink wall behind him rather than the clothes, or the buff body, he's in. "I'm glad you're here together. Do you have your papers with you?" 

Matteo nods and he watches the other boy do the same. He digs into his backpack, fishing for the neatly pinned stack of papers and hands it over to the man, Mr. Dev, if he remembers correctly. The other boy follows suit, Matteo doesn't fail to notice the slight tremble of his hands as he does so. 

Neither does the director, apparently, because he asks "Are you sure you want to do this?" While watching the boy with a little frown.

He shoves his hands into his pocket and gives a determined little smile that both breaks Matteo's heart and makes it soar. "I need the money." He states. 

The director purses his lips and nods. "I hope you've both read all the clauses of the contract?" He is now looking at both the boys, so Matteo nods. 

"Okay." He states through his pencilled moustache, ruffling through the sheets that were handed over to him, before signing them in a couple of spots and shoving them in a drawer.

"You've done this before. So you know how the whole thing goes right?" He asks Matteo, who shifts an imperceptible inch back from his place upon receiving the sudden attention. "Why did you leave your old company though? Aren't they supposed to be the top grossers in the industry?"

Matteo gulps as unwelcome images flood his perception. He nods slowly as he answers. "They are." He confirms, burying his hands deeper into the pocket of his hoodie, turning just a little bit redder as he feels the other boy's gaze fall upon him. 

"At least they were, the last time I checked." A pigeon lands on the window sill behind the director and Matteo watches the light bouncing off of its grey and pink plumage. It bobs its silly little head as it moves. He doesn't feel like answering this question. 

"I... Uhm... I was.... Uh... Was abused." He falters. The words stick like concrete onto the sides of his throat and he almost feels a dull pain as he dislodges them out of his mouth.

The director looks disconcerted at his words, immediately lodging himself into a flurry of apologies as Matteo shakes his head.

"It's okay, sir. I'm okay, now. It's fine." He declares. 

The other man quiets down, but still looks rather unsatisfied as he settles back into his chair. Matteo can't help but note the stark contrast that he poses to the director that he used to work with in his old company.

He still remembers the words the wiry man, who somehow looked more ancient than the Indian architecture, had spoken to him when he had told him about the way he had been treated on the set the previous night, baring the angry red marks on his back as proof. The director had taken one dismissive look at his injuries, almost biting at the Marlboro sticking out of his dusky lips and had cackled at Matteo. 

"That would have looked better on screen if it were redder." He had stated. Matteo recalls the way his toes had curled under themselves due to the words. "Go ahead and get to your next set, boy, would you? If I had to address every complaint like this I wouldn't have the time to do my actual job. Run along, now. Don't waste my time."

A tap on his shoulder brings him back to the unicorn-vomit room and he turns to look at the boy on his side, who gives him a little eyebrow raise and an unnecessary smirk as response. He's almost about to respond with a warped version of his own frown when Mr. Dev's voice draws his attention away. 

"You won't be facing any of that nonsense here. Yes, you’re going to act in adult movies, and yes it might not be the best of the jobs out there.” States the director, face rigid in his determination to be kind and thoughtful. “But you’re still human. And you deserve to be respected. So don't you worry, Mr Uhh..." Matteo gives him his name. "That's right. You'll be okay with us."

Matteo nods, feeling reassured although he doesn't want to allow himself to do just that. Untrustworthy is a word that was custom made for an industry like this, as Matteo has come to learn over the past years of being a part of it. But there's just something about the man sitting before him, in the timid flash of his coffee-brown eyes that makes Matteo want to risk it just this once.

So he does, convincing himself that he's doing the right thing as he signs over the little x mark at the corner of their contract. 

When he shakes the man's hand before leaving, he watches the way his hands look as they are buried in the older man's grasp. He likes the way it feels, secure, if he dares to admit it, as if he's held them before, the ridges and dips and the warmth of the fingers seem vaguely familiar. He leaves the building with the same thoughts bouncing around his head. 

A call grabs his attention when he's almost on the other side of the road.

"Oye!" 

He turns around to find the boy, who looks around at the traffic before crossing the road himself. 

"Tomorrow at nine, right?" He asks and Matteo nods, a little confused. Mr. Dev had said it enough times to lodge the information neatly into Matteo's long term memory, it's impossible that the boy had missed it. 

He watches as the boy bites his lips, his gaze downcast, as if he's mulling over thoughts that need to be acknowledged shortly. Matteo resists the urge to push him against something and kiss all the bashfulness out of his system.

"It'll my first time tomorrow." The blond states out of the blue. "With a boy, I mean." He continues, eyes climbing up to meet Matteo's, who simply blinks back at him. "Just thought you should know."

Matteo fishes for the appropriate words in his system. How is he supposed to respond to something like that? 

"I'll try to be as gentle as I can." He promises, trying to throw in a reassuring smile just in case. 

The boy snorts. "That's so sappy." He says and Matteo can't help but snort, too.

What even is this boy? 

"Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says and looks away for a second, as if something that's afar has suddenly caught his attention. A little frown gets etched into his features before he turns back around. 

“Like always" He adds, staring straight into Matteo's gaze, a strange infliction to his words, that Matteo can only grasp the edges of.

He watches the boy’s back as he walks away, his slender shoulders bowed, like he’s holding something heavy and invisible upon them. 

Like always. 

Matteo repeats the words as he shuffles home through the damp streets. They’re solid and settle over his tongue like iron weights.

Like always. 

Since when, David?

***

The next day is hectic. Everyone is moving around the shooting place like they have wheels attached to their ankles. The lights are perfect, the bed looks warm and ready to be used, and Mr. Dev has repeated the same sentences to Matteo enough times to make him question if alphabets are even supposed to make sense in this world.

“This is going to be an experiment on stimulation.” Matteo hears the director say to David for the thirtieth time since morning. “You are both going to be blind-folded. And you should not touch each other.”

David raises a comical eyebrow at the statement. How on earth am I supposed to do that? His face asks quietly. The director shakes his head in frustration.

“You know what I mean.” He explains. “Keep your hands to yourself unless you really have to use them. And no kissing. Absolutely no kissing. And don’t remove your masks.”

David nods, and although he looks like he has several questions to ask he restrains himself from uttering even a word in fear of getting his ears chewed off.

“It’s not about you.” The director adds, looking at the neatly made bed and the tripod before it with strange fondness. “It’s not about the actors. Or the set. It’s about bodies, about movement and touch. It’s about him loving you with the stroke of his hip against the skin of your thigh, it’s about the way your back curves into the palm of his hand. This is not just porn, we’re not that small. This is a festival of visual and auditory art that I want to imprint onto the reel of my camera. Do you understand that?”

David looks scared as he nods, his eyes looking almost double their actual size as he gazes up at Mr. Dev’s fiery ones. Matteo giggles into the sleeve of his shirt.

They begin the shoot in an hour’s time, with Matteo and David sitting on the edge of the bed in nothing but their silver theatre eye-masks. Matteo's hands tremble a little at his sides as anticipation rises within him until he feels like a stretched balloon holding onto dear life with its last layer of atoms. 

David looks like a dream as his honey skin shimmers in perfect contrast to the pristine white bedspread beneath them. Matteo wonders if the blond boy will come apart like a million-piece jigsaw puzzle if he so much as dares to touch him. He looks too delicate, paper-thin and too unreal to be sturdy enough for life.

Mr. Dev shouts commands from behind the camera, asking Matteo to move closer, to place his hands on David, to take him in with his eyes as he does so. And Matteo obeys, all the while feeling like he’s hovering at least an inch above the ground, never touching the floor or anything around him, as if there’s some force repelling his atoms away from everything inanimate, everything that isn’t David.

They kiss for the first time in a stutter of thoughts, amidst a psychological storm of perceptions and feelings so tangible and surreal, so solid and formless that their only anchor is the other’s embrace. 

Matteo separates their mouths with the dejection mimicking that of a hundred war-ridden countries when he hears Mr. Dev clearing his throat loudly.

David’s mouth forms a perfect O as Matteo pumps his fingers in and out of him. Every square inch of skin is paid attention to, every moan addressed and appreciated. Mr. Dev watches the couple, his face a silent mask of amazement, assured that he’s getting the masterpiece that he’d asked for, but also knowing that this is beyond any of that, out of bounds of anything even remotely materialistic. It’s like watching the formation of a galaxy, ancient and eternal. He feels like his spine has frozen over.

When Matteo adjusts their position so that David is now on top, the blond boy looks suddenly unsure as he hovers over his body, having gone still in an awkward posture between his thighs. But he can't really understand what the boy is going through though since the mask covers a good part of his eyes. In a moment of dilemma Matteo holds his hands out on his sides and tilts his head a little in a silent question of 'Are you okay?'. 

It takes a moment to capture the boy's attention, but once he does look around and catches Matteo’s gaze something flits across whatever is seen of the boy's face. Something bright, but indiscernible, it changes the colour of his skin. He leans down and places his palms against Matteo’s, using his support as a leverage to shift his weight as he gently slides down Matteo’s length. 

For the next few moments all of Matteo’s thoughts are replaced by colours. He first thinks in red as the boy's warmth wraps around him like a billow of smoke on a chilly Christmas morning, which slowly fades to lighter shades of orange as the boy continues to slide deeper. And then Matteo feels him shift, leading to a chain of little silver explosions which terminates in a stretch of white when he hits just the right spot and steals a breathy moan out of the boy.

David then squeezes his hands, slipping his fingers through the gaps in Matteo’s as he raises himself a few inches above his hips before slamming back down against his skin. In an instant, Matteo is back to being a puddle of colours again, shifting through hues of red, orange, silver and white as the boy continues to pump himself up and down over his length. 

He is so far gone, lost in an endless spiral lined by David’ huffs, his mouth that is captured in a pout so perfect it looks like a little red halo in his face and the slide of their slick skin against each other that he doesn't even notice when the boy leans down to press their lips together. It is only too natural to return the kiss, in this moment he'd give this boy the entire universe if he made so much as a simple gesture of wanting it, so it's barely a surprise that he allows him to work their mouths together in an unheard symphony that makes perfect sense to Matteo. 

It takes a while for him to snap back into his senses, but even then he doesn't really snap, not so much as he slowly drifts back into it, he quickly withdraws his mouth away from the boy's. The shock and quick dejection that his action leaves on the boy's face squeezes his inside. So he raises himself onto his elbows and places a quick peck over his mouth, before curling his arm around the boy's waist and turning both of them around so that the boy's back is now plush against the mattress and Matteo is kneeling over him. 

An experimental roll of his hips reveals the intensity of the influence he has over David right now, whose frame is taken over by bouts of tremors as his eyes roll back into his head. Matteo leans over, placing his forearm over the bed so as to cushion the boy's head. He strokes his hair, fingers as light as a liar's promise, before nuzzling the tip of his nose against the boy's. This pulls a shy smile out of him, one that pulses brightly through the haze that the both of them are in right now, one that leaves Matteo breathless and in desperate need to kiss the living lights out of David. So he smiles back, because it doesn't make sense to do anything else but keep this boy inexplicably happy in this moment. 

He thrusts his hips a second time, and to Matteo’s immense surprise the action pulls a peal of crystal laughter out of the boy. It is a pure sound, rendered with such high definition clarity that it stops Matteo in his tracks for a while as he looks at the beauty spread out before him, his peanut butter skin, shimmering as it catches the dull light of the ancient bulb over their heads, glowing gold through the mask of sweat that covers every inch of his body. He suddenly wants to whisk the boy away from here, take him elsewhere, anywhere, really, as long as it is far away enough and tuck him into some safe treasure chest and guard him for the rest of his life.

He feels something pull against the curve of his hips and reorients his body to see the boy tugging at him, asking him to start moving again, the stillness is becoming too much for him to handle. So he does. Every move that Matteo makes from then on is thorough and calculated, and has a single ulterior motive and that is enhance the bliss that is so evident on the boy's face it almost looks like second skin. Sometimes he glides, lithe and gentle, in and out of the boy, as serene as a boat over a still lake, and sometimes he thrusts with just enough force to rip moans so drawn out and deep that it reverberates within the pit of his stomach.

His body moves on its own, and he worships the blond, whose body is a religion that he wants to be thorough in, every move he makes is a prayer offered up to the only deity he's ever wanted to please in all his life. Somehow the boy turns more luminescent beneath Matteo, like he's emitting his own light, burning Matteo in the process. When he watches the boy climax with a shudder, mouth a perfect red circle in his face, eyes rolled all the way back to the heavens, he can't help but let himself go too.

He's heard of black hole collisions before, about how the bigger one of them consumes the smaller, making it a part of itself, forever gone, eternally present. This feeling beneath his skin is probably what that must feel like. His mind is shot up high and refuses to come back down from the celestials. It's like the program of Matteo’s entire existence has been reset and the only codes now being written over it revolves around the boy. He descends slowly and incompletely from the high, laying his head over the smooth surface of David’s chest, who proceeds to gently wrap his arms around his neck as their rapid breaths fall into a lulled synchrony. 

When Matteo regains his ability to think again, he raises himself up onto his elbows, cradling the boy's frame in between his arms. He gets a smile in return, one so sweet that he can't help himself from leaning down and placing a small kiss on the boy's lips

***

It comes in little shards and pieces, like debris let loose in open space, it comes haltingly, interrupted by a million nebulae of thoughts, it comes bright and undaunted, like a lighthouse beam and he's been lost at sea for way too long. And when it comes, all he can do is bury his face in David’s chest, hoping to find the kind of solace that would buffer all his misfortunes. 

Maybe this time if he holds on tight enough, he won't have to let go. 

They become something of local celebrities. Suddenly there are flowers at their doorsteps and box full of fan mail. Anonymous, of course, but that doesn't make them any less endearing. They go on the kind of dates that begin with a scheduled dinner and end in long unplanned conversations that get lost in between the folds of their bed sheets. And they talk about everything, from bedbugs and boomerangs to the big bang and all else in between. 

There is a strange peace that Matteo finds in their arguments, the kind that sighs and comforts him. At least you have him here to hold arguments, it says, at least you have him here alive. 

***  
"Why do I feel like there's something that you're not telling me?" David asks on a Friday morning. They're on their way to work, in the city train among a hundred other sweaty, aggravated bodies that just want to reach their offices before it's late enough to get fired. Matteo pulls the boy closer to himself, away from a strange arm that is placed way too close to be unintentional, before frowning at the boy and asking him what he means. 

David shrugs, slipping a discreet hand into the pocket of Matteo’s hoodie. He pouts, the way he does when there are too many thoughts in his head and too little words to mould them into. 

"I don't know. How do I explain it?" He smiles a little at Matteo, embarrassed at himself. It makes the raven-haired boy want to bite the blush right out of his cheeks.

Maybe later. 

"Like there's something you're not telling me." He continues haltingly, like he's weighing each word before releasing it out of his mouth. "But you can't because you don't know it yourself. You know?"

"Hmm?" Matteo utters, lilting the word at the end so it comes out as some kind of a question. David sighs a little, displeased at his failure to properly convey his thoughts to the other boy. 

"Like there's something we're missing. Something humongous and we're too infinitesimal to actually see it. Like trying to focus an entire planet under a microscope or something, you know?" He gazes hopefully at Matteo, who returns an apologetic shrug. He sighs again before smiling. 

"It's okay." He mutters, quietly slipping an arm around one of Matteo’s elbows. "Maybe I'm just out of my mind and rambling."

Matteo looks out of the hazy window for a moment, eyes focused on the thick metallic dashes of the power lines flanking the train track. A few fat pigeons sit on the railing outside, looking like they have all the time in the world at their disposal, and they do. 

He pulls David a little closer to himself, which surprises the boy enough to make him look up into his eyes, a tiny frown adorning his pretty face. 

"Maybe someday we'll be big enough." Matteo tells him and the boy tilts his head to the side, looking devastatingly similar to a curious puppy. "And the planet will shrink, too, and will fit on our slide. We'll focus on it then."

Matteo doesn't know if he's making any sense. But the way David's face first relaxes and then lights up assures him that he doesn't have to. He tends to forget that they speak each other's languages of idiocy, so it takes minimal effort to understand what the other is saying most of the times. 

'Blissful ignorance for now?" David asks, a little giggle escaping his lips at the end of the question. It makes Matteo want to steal all the new ones with his mouth before they leave the boy's lips again. 

David probably reads his mind, or maybe his face is not as good at hiding his emotions as he thought it was, because the blond boy looks away with a rose quartz blush painting his cheeks. 

"For now." Matteo affirms. 

***  
Almost a year after their first meeting at their director's office they decide to buy a place together. "It doesn't have to be anything fancy", David admits on one Friday night from his well-cocooned position amidst Matteo's downy blankets and his bare chest. "Even a single room apartment will do. As long as it's ours."

Matteo hums in agreement, not bothering to look away from the novel he's been reading for the past hour. David continues to fidget with the hem of his pyjama shirt, sometimes slipping a sly hand under it and sending light shivers through Matteo’s frame. 

"I want to have a life with you." He says, looking up at the off-white ceiling of Matteo's room. "A real one. The kind with kitchens, mini-plants and one AM arguments." He turns his head, placing it perfectly at the dip between Matteo's pecs.

"I want all my days to have you in it. Even Sundays when all I want to do is eat peanut butter straight out of the jar and not take bath, I want you right by my side, thoroughly unwashed and munching on the left over bread." He adds before looking up at Matteo, who is peering over the edge of his book with an unreadable expression in his eyes. 

"Can you do that for me?" David asks, his lips pressed together in such a cat-like manner that Matteo can almost hear a purr escaping his system. 

"Absolutely." He promises, leaning down to place a wet and badly aimed kiss onto the other boy's mouth. "I wouldn't want it any other way."

It takes them a few months but they manage to save up enough money to buy a small nook for themselves. The place is a hundred years away from the city, enough to make both of them prefer death or something equally unpleasant over the morning commute to their workplace, and it's too small and too unfurnished to even pass as barely habitable. But it's theirs, and that seems to be enough for the couple who worships every badly-painted wall of their new residence. 

They move in on a Saturday. They haven't bought any furniture yet, so the house looks bigger than usual and their words echo through the hallway. They have instant noodles for dinner, made using the portable gas stove that one of their few friends very thoughtfully gave them as a house warming present. And they make love, sweet and unhurried, over the new bumpy mattress that they themselves purchased. 

Within the dusty curtained windows of the subpar apartment house, under the ceiling that will probably start leaking in a few years, life is just as perfect as it should be.

***

It's August again and Matteo sits on an easy chair in the cramped balcony of their house, a weekly magazine in his hand and a sour look on his face. In perfect contrast to his mood, the day outside shimmers in all its bright blue sky and wispy clouds brilliance. 

David pushes the sliding door open and looks down at Matteo with an expression that staggers between fondness and annoyance. "It's only for two days." He states, walking over to stand in front of the other boy with his hands resting on his hips. A posture that Matteo immediately relates with danger due to dreadful past experiences, he better change his attitude right this instant or more trouble is going to follow. So he schools his features into a barely good enough expression of pleasantness. 

"Hmm?" He asks, an almost idiotic grin stretching his lips. David wants to laugh at the boy, but he doesn't let the temptation get the best of him. 

"I'll be gone for two days, that's all." He states firmly. "And it's my mother's birthday and I only have one of those so I really have to be there."

Matteo nods, wanting desperately to show that he's thoroughly understood each word that has come out of his boyfriend's mouth. David squints at him until he's convinced that the boy is actually paying attention and not just pretending to do so. 

"And it's only Delhi, so I'll be back within no time." He says and Matteo nods once again, dropping the magazine slowly onto his lap and looking smaller than David has ever seen him. 

The sight makes him want to take the boy and wrap him up in a blanket or do something equally protective. He moves over, taking the book out of the Matteo's lap and replacing it with his own bottom, before threading his arms around the other’s neck burying his face into his shoulder. Matteo smells like mint aftershave and vanilla fabric softener, two aromas so basic and flat that David wouldn't even have paid them any attention if they hadn't covered the skin of this man before him. 

"I'll be back before you even start to miss me." He says as Matteo rubs his cheek against the top of his head. 

He is about to leave an hour later, a small duffel bag hung over his shoulder, his hands cuffed warmly in between Matteo’s, who leans against the doorframe and refuses to let go. 

"Stop being a baby." He half berates and half begs Matteo as he tries to free his own hand. 

"I thought you liked infants." The other boy says as he reluctantly releases his grip on David’s fingers. 

"Yeah the kind who drool and can't eat by themselves." He states before he takes Matteo's lips between his own in an urgent kiss that involves a little bit of hair-grabbing and only half a moan, nothing much. 

"I can do that too." Matteo offers as the blond turns around and starts to walk towards the staircase. 

"No, thanks." Is the reply he gets. 

"I'm missing you already."

The wind is broken by the delicious chime of David's giggles. Matteo wants to record it and listen to it all the time, right through to his death bed. 

"At least wait until I'm out of sight."

***  
300 KILLED AND 400 INJURED IN A TRAIN WRECK

FIROZABAD, India (21st August, 1995) — At least 300 people were killed and 400 others were injured Sunday when a passenger train rammed another train that had stopped suddenly after hitting a cow, news agencies reported.  
Rescue workers were still pulling bodies from the twisted debris today and expected the death toll to rise. Cranes were being used to lift the smashed cars, which had telescoped into each other.

“Every time we pick something up, there’s a body underneath it,” said Mr Chopra, the railroad’s divisional manager.

***  
It is the kind of shriek that seeps into the skin and settles there like a thin layer of ice, the kind that sends shivers down your spine a month, or maybe even a year, after you first heard it. The sounds that follow, the ones that escape the deep confines of Matteo's chest are no less terrifying. It tears at the ears of anyone who is unfortunate enough to be close to their apartment when the news is broadcasted through the little box of a TV that sits atop a matte black table that David had purchased at a second hand furniture shop last month. 

He can still smell the boy's perfume on his shirt, the soft sandal one he only reserves for special occasions and draped over the sofa arm is the wet towel that he's forgotten to remove once again despite the hundred odd times that Matteo has asked him to do just that. 

By the time he reaches the site of disaster it is nothing but a makeshift inferno characterised by wailing ambulances that herald the beginning of a lifetime of nightmares and too much blood and too much smoke that settles into every cell lining Matteo's airway, causing him to choke and claw at his neck until the only relief he has left is the pain, the agony that shows undoubtedly that he's still alive.

And soon that becomes unbearable too, because yes, he's alive, and breathing, but guess who's not? Guess who never will again? 

They receive the body three days later, wrapped in a white shroud that is a pretentious insignia of peace that Matteo is sure he's never going to experience again.

The body was too mangled, they said, we had to cover the face. 

As he looks at the garbled cocoon that was once his lover, all Matteo wants to do is scream again, scream until he can no longer be heard, until the galaxies show mercy again and collide, shatter and consume each other so that there can be a tragedy greater than his own. 

All he wants to do is scream but there is not a sound to be heard.

Only a ghost whisper of a thought long forgotten.

"At least wait until I'm out of sight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, it's 3 in the morning so I probably haven't done a good job at developing the plot on this one so please feel free to use the comment section if you have any doubts. Because I'm like 750% sure the first part is confusing as heck. 
> 
> Also, I was very unsure about writing something this intimate about Davenzi so if at all there's anything up there that offends anyone then I'm really sorry. 
> 
> Thank you for taking your time to read this. I thoroughly appreciate it.


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